Triggers
by WybourneObsessed
Summary: "That's why I sent him back," says doctor Aurelius. "You're all he has left. But we also need to know what keeps triggering his episodes. They've gotten worse." Post-Mockingay, pre-epilogue. Katniss realizes that Peeta needs her more than she needs him.
1. Instinct

**A/N: Hello, Hunger Games fandom! I have finally wound up the courage to write a fanfic for you. I wish there was more post-Mockinjay, pre-epilogue stuff, but the ones that I have read so far are amazing! This is just going to be my take on it. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter One: Instinct  
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Between the nightmares and the memories and the realization that I have been thrown out of the Capitol because I am useless, I know that things will get worse. I don't want to go through with my therapy, I don't want to take my pills like a good patient.

I don't want to do anything anymore.

Hunting only brings back memories of Gale and I, so I've stopped. Greasy Sae hasn't had any fresh game for weeks, but she seems content to feed me the fresh bread Peeta is always baking.

I almost rip the phone out of the wall like Haymitch has because it seems to infinitely ring. Something that makes that much noise can only be ignored for so long. Sae gently prods me to answer it, and I never reply. Just sit on the couch and wait for whoever is on the other line to take the hint.

There are some nights that I wish I had Peeta, the old Peeta, to turn to when I have my dreams. He always managed to help turn even the darkest things to light. But now that he's been tortured to the point of what I am pretty sure is no return, all I have to do is somehow make it through the night. It's possible, only just, and I'm relieved to see the sun when I open my eyes.

Only one night, I've only been asleep for three hours according to the digital clock on the table, and I know that's all the rest I will get for the night. So I climb out of bed, put on a light jacket and my boots over the pants that I had been attempting to sleep in, and head outside.

The moon lights the way down the otherwise dark sidewalk, in between the rows of houses that make up the Victor's Village. Every house I pass by is quiet, the curtains and shutters drawn in for the night. The only home that still has it's golden light gently shining against the windows is Peeta's. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why.

He's been through so much, just like me. Forever scarred, forever different. We've both lost the ones we love. I could compare the qualities that would seemingly tie us together for life, but every time I try to convince myself that my situation is so much worse than his, it's impossible. He's been tortured. And it's my fault. They abandoned him in the arena so they could save me.

What isn't my fault these days?

I stare at his window from the sidelines, trying to ignore the strange feeling that Peeta is watching me. My hand protectively reaches up to rub at my throat. The bruises have faded, but the phantom grip that still threatens to choke me causes my breath to hitch for a moment. I swallow multiple times just to assure myself that, yes, I can still breathe, and chew the inside of my cheek as I weigh my options.

Option A is to flee from the scene before Peeta catches me red-handed and spend another night laying awake in bed and wishing the dreams would go away.

Option B is to hold a polite visit with a hijacked and not-so-safe-to-be-around Peeta in the middle of the night.

I don't know why, but Option B sounds tremendously better than the latter. I have always had a knack for doing stupid things, and that will be my excuse if something bad happens tonight.

I sigh and attempt to confidently stride towards his front door, but it mostly looks like I'm creeping up on my prey like I do in the woods. Hesitantly. Silently. The tensest second passes after I rasp on his door three times, and it gets even worse when he doesn't open up. A pang of worry pierces me and I knock another three times. Harsher. Louder.

Still no answer. I know something's wrong because when I twist the doorknob I find it unlocked. It must have been a bad day for Peeta. One riddled with flashbacks.

After checking the living room and the kitchen, which are both devoid of Peeta, I stare in disdain at the stairs. He must be up there. But is he in full-out-mutt mode right now? Is he asleep? With each step I take my mind conjures up other excuses to what he could be doing up there.

Once I'm in the hallway of the second floor, I call out as softly as I can. "Peeta?" It's like we're in the Hunger Games again, me looking for the boy who was in the mud, except now he's the boy with the venom inside of him.

When there isn't an answer I make my way through the hallway to the only room that's lit. It must be his room. "Peeta," I say again, raising my voice so he can at least acknowledged my presence. This time, I hear the faintest reply.

"Katniss?"

My suspicions were confirmed. As soon as I stepped foot into his room, heard how weak his voice sounded, that today was what he called "a bad day." He's as pale as a sheet, and his blue eyes stand out under the rows of circles under them. It's been a horrible day.

I kneel down beside him and relax a bit because he doesn't have that look like he's in pain at the moment, and press a hand to his forehead. He flinches, and I almost jerk back because that's such a stupid thing to do to a boy that could accidentally snap any minute. It could also trigger an episode, which looks like that's the last thing he needs.

"Katniss..." he repeats, blinking tiredly. My guess is that he's taken his nightly dose of pills and is supposed to be asleep right now. "You're in my house. In the middle of the night. Real or not real?" He struggles to sit up and I let him, not wanting to set him off if I try to ease him down.

"Real." I say, standing up and shifting on my feet. Why can't Haymitch at least try to watch over him? He'd probably be too drunk to care, but it's better than the danger I'm putting myself in right now. "How are you feeling?" I ask.

Peeta falls back onto his pillows and heaves a sigh. "My head aches."

It's obvious there's more than just a small headache happening. I don't pry, though. I'm being extremely cautious of him. And he knows it.

"It's okay," Peeta says, eying me closely. "This medicine is supposed to help the flashbacks."

"I haven't been taking any of my pills," I admit, promptly trying to change the subject. "Do you need anything?"

"You asked me that in the arena. Real or not real?" he asks.

"Real," I answer.

"You threatened to kill me if the blood poisoning didn't first. Real or not real?" I can tell by the way his pupils twitch slightly that he's fighting a bubbly memory.

"Not real," I say firmly, tucking the blankets in around him. He wouldn't have the strength to hurt me if he tried. The thought calms me down, even more so when he blinks and his eyes lose that hazy look. "Have you drank? Or eaten?" He shakes his head at the first question and nods at the second. "I'm going to go get you some water. Or do you have any other requests?"

"There's some hot chocolate in the cabinets." he says.

"Alright. I'll be right back," I assure Peeta, turning on my heel and walking down into the kitchen. I find that Peeta's cabinets are mostly stocked with flour and other baking supplies, since he is definitely capable of making his own meals, but there is a hefty supply of packages that give directions on how to make the hot chocolate he loves so much. It's simple; just boil some water, wait until it's warm, pour the packet's contents into a mug, and stir until it's all mixed up.

Now that I have made it back in Peeta's room only to discover that he's asleep, I debate on whether or not I should just leave the cup by his bed. The old Katniss would have roused him, made sure he was okay before leaving. My instinct now is to flee, so I follow it.

Afterwords, when I'm waking up screaming for Prim to run, I open my window for a breath of fresh air and see that Peeta's light is now off. Just as the sun begins to rise, there's a ring at my doorbell.

Three hours later when I finally decide to answer, there's a small note on the concrete porch that reads "_Thanks for the chocolate._"


	2. Denial

**A/N: All these wonderful reviews! You guys are making me smile. :3 Here's a much longer chapter for you!**

**Chapter Two: Denial**

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><p>A week goes by before I can blink and I actually drag myself out of bed to go hunting. The fresh air seems to do me good and I end up getting three rabbits from recent snares and a squirrel. I haven't been able to shoot game through the eye like I used to, and although it's disappointing, it wasn't unexpected. I haven't really been able to do anything like the old Katniss.<p>

I am greeted by the seemingly-never-ending ring of the telephone as I step inside, and actually decide to pick it up for once. There's a pause on the other line, as if the person can't really believe I'm answering. I'd be surprised too.

"Katniss?" asks Dr. Aurelius in disbelief. He then clears his throat. "I'm glad you've finally decided to pick up."

"Yeah." I say hoarsely.

"I can't cover for you forever, Miss Everdeen," he says, and I can picture him rubbing that spot above his left eyebrow where he gets headaches like mine. "We have to at least attempt this therapy. Peeta has."

"Of course he has." It comes out icier than I intended, but it's obvious why Peeta hasn't objected to the therapy. He's been tortured and hijacked, he needs help.

"But my therapy hasn't been working at every angle I would like it to," Dr. Aurelius continues. "Since I have never been in his life until after he was captured, I cannot trigger one of his episodes."

"I can," I say automatically. Obviously I can, since Peeta is the closest thing I have to a friend now. Gale is off in 2, most likely with another girl; one that isn't emotionally and physically scarred. Someone he deserves. "He hasn't had any episodes that I'm aware of."

"I'm guessing that's because you haven't even checked on him since his return?"

"I checked on him once," I say indignantly. "He was sick."

"Simple after-affects of his medication," say Dr. Aurelius. "It should start to ease his fits. But what I really need to know is what sets them off. And how."

How? Does he want me to attempt to set off the most dangerous bomb in District 12 now? "I thought that's what we're trying to prevent," I reply pleadingly. Anything but finding out what lights the fuse to his muttationous personality. I'd give anything just to make it stop. "And it's dangerous for me to do something like that."

"He made significant progress when he tagged along with you in the Capitol." he points out. I wouldn't say significant, since the only thing he really managed to do was cut up his wrists and attempt to commit suicide multiple times.

"Yes, he did," I say anyway. "but I don't want to force him into a seizure."

"That's not what I'm saying at all, Katniss," he says. "I'm talking about spending more time with the boy. You've only seen him once. He needs you."

He needs me? The one who put him in danger, caused him to lose his leg? His sanity? "No, he doesn't."

I'm the one who needs him.

"Miss Everdeen, you're in denial." says Dr. Aurelius, and I hear the telltale scraping of a pen against paper. The old Katniss loved to hear the sound of a pencil against paper, especially when Peeta used to draw. I wonder if he still has that talent.

"I'm not in denial." I say, which only adds to the fact that, yes, I am. I admit it. But in denial about one specific thing, or more than one?

"You think you need him. I believe this is half of the cause of your depression, the other half being because of trauma and the loss of your sister," he says, and I immediately bite the inside of my cheek. I will never admit that, either, but I am still in denial about her death.

Buttercup only adds to the illusion when he stares at me with his orange eyes. "While in reality, it's him who needs you so much more. To find out what triggers his episodes, what stops them, and if he tries to harm you."

"But-" I try to object.

"But nothing. If anything happens, call again and people will be over in the blink of an eye. Give it a shot, Miss Everdeen."

And he hangs up.

-0-0-0-0-

"Haymitch, we need to talk." I say as I follow him around, watching him utter profanity at the geese while they waddle around his yard. "It's about Peeta."

"Sweetheart, it's always about Peeta." he looks over his shoulder and smirks. I cross my arms and try to look as serious as possible.

"No, it's not. But the point is, Dr. Aurelius wants me to try and set him off."

"You can do that without trying."

I bite the inside of my cheek again to resist the urge to shout a curse at him. I'm supposed to be getting him to agree with me, not get him angry with me. "He wants me to learn what all makes him have an episode," I continue. "and how to treat each one. Doesn't that seem dangerous to you?"

"When was the last time you haven't done something dangerous?" Haymitch asks, tossing a pebble half-heartily at a goose. It squawks and scuttles away, dodging the rock with ease.

"_Haymitch_," I almost hiss. "I don't want to hurt him anymore. Not on purpose."

"Then don't," says Haymitch simply. "At least talk to the boy. And if something you say makes him go ballistic, help him. Then go report to Dr. A."

"But what if I get hurt?"

"You're smart, you'll figure something out." And with that, he strides inside and slams the door behind him. That's the second time today someone has ended a conversation rudely with me.

-0-0-0-0-

I've decided to go over to Peeta's, just one more time. I still don't understand how he needs me more than I need him. He's never needed any help with anything. He could convince the cameras that we were madly in love, create drama in every interview that he has. He's the steady, solid foundation I've been building the three worst years of my life around.

Recently, though, that foundation has been cracked, and broken.

We'll have to fix that.

I try to make myself decent for once, suddenly feeling nervous about going back over to his home. I shouldn't be as self-conscious as I am, but I try my best to make my cropped, uneven hair go into a braid and pull it over my left shoulder. I find myself fiddling with it while waiting for Peeta to answer the door.

The slight thumping noise from inside tells me that he's coming, but he's sore. His limp is always more prominent when it's bothering him. Or maybe it's just his usual steps that are as loud as the trees when the wind blows.

He finally opens the door, and I make a strange noise in the back of my throat at his appearance. "P-Peeta."

The shadows under his eyes only make his irises seem a brighter, icier blue than they should be. His blond hair has a greasy, flat look, and I can tell he hasn't been bothering to change clothes recently. It surprises me how much he's starting to resemble Haymitch. That is a very, very bad thing.

"Katniss," he says, blinking and raising an eyebrow. He glances from me to the inside of his house and awkwardly steps aside to let me in. "C-come in, if you'd like."

"Thank you." We're back to that formal talk, then. Two can play at that game. I step inside, and follow the scent of bread to the kitchen. Fresh-baked loaves cover the table and I'm sure he's meaning to pack and deliver them to the other residents of 12. I wonder which one he'll give me.

"It gets tiring and boring, sometimes," Peeta says as he comes up behind me and walks to the oven. "Baking bread, I mean."

"You can bake something else." I reply.

"It never ends well." he says quietly, and I immediately draw the shutters on that subject.

"...How have you been?" I ask. His cold laugh startles me.

"Peachy." he says. "I've only been having reoccurring nightmares every night and going mutt every hour."

This time when I bite the inside of my cheek, it draws blood. "Peeta, I'm sorry." I say.

"Why should you be sorry?" he mutters, kneading some more bread dough roughly. "It's not your fault they left me for the Capitol in the arena."

"It's not Haymitch's fault either," I say angrily.

"Then who's to blame for the state I'm in now?"

"Snow." I automatically reply. "It was his fault all along, Peeta. The bombing, your hijacking." _But not Prim's death. _

"You didn't execute him, though," he says. "You executed Coin instead."

"Because things wouldn't be much better if she wanted another Hunger Games!" I scream, losing my temper. I have a feeling Peeta's been holding too many feelings inside for much too long. I have as well, and whether I want them to or not, they're coming out.

"You voted for them!" he yells, turning away from his dough to narrow those flaming blue eyes at me. "For Prim, you said. Prim wouldn't have wanted that."

The blood from my cheek has a coppery aftertaste, and I have to run to his sink and spit before I vomit from it. Peeta's resolve fails and he looks worried for a moment before shaking his head.

"It wouldn't have mattered," I say as I wash the red liquid down the drain. "She was a horrible woman, Peeta. And I promised Snow that we wouldn't lie to each other."

"Maybe if you didn't try to commit suicide afterwords, it would have been easier to understand." says Peeta, kneading his dough in a softer manner than before.

"I was convinced I was going to die anyway."

"Me too, honestly," says Peeta. "When one arrow flies, there can only be more to follow."

"Like when there's a spark, there's always a fire?" I ask.

"Not always. Sometimes the spark isn't strong enough," Peeta says, molding the dough into a thick, gooey bread shape. "But in your case, it set all of Panem ablaze."

"You helped," I say.

"Not on purpose. You did most of the work. You were the Mockingjay."

"And you were hijacked." I say.

"Yes. Still am, apparently. Dr. Aurelius says I might never recover."

"You will," I say firmly. "I forbid you to... not recover."

Peeta chuckles a bit, and his eyes seem softer now. "Alright, Katniss." he says, putting the now-shaped sough into the oven and clapping his flour-caked hands. "Now, why did you come? You don't just usually want to visit."

I was afraid he'd ask. "What do you mean? I can't visit you but you can write me notes and come over for breakfast every day?"

"Sae invites me!"

"You can't make your own breakfast?" I raise what's left of my eyebrow.

"I can, but her's is supposed to make me gain more weight. All of the stuff I lost in the Capitol." he says. He sure doesn't look strong and healthy like he did in the Games at all.

"Her food is really good, too." I say, shifting my feet and fiddling with my braid.

"Uh huh." he says.

The silence is tight and laces the air between us, and I don't dare break it. Peeta sets the timer for the bread and glances my way before slumping down onto a chair in the dining room. "Let's not pretend, Katniss. I don't want to pretend anymore. You can go."

"I'm not pretending." I say, sitting across from him. "Why would I be pretending?"

"Real or not real, you're trying to find out what triggers my episodes?"

His eyes search my face carefully, and I know there's no denying it. I'm a horrible liar, and he can tell when I'm fibbing. I nod once, slowly.

"Yes," I say. "But Dr. Aurelius told me I needed to. To help. How did you find out?"

"Haymitch. He told me earlier, when I delivered his bread."

_Of course he did, _I think. Can Haymitch ever keep his mouth shut?

"That's not the only reason I'm over here." I say, staring down into the strange circles that make up Peeta's extravagant wooden table. It's almost identical to mine, lacking the small indents where Buttercup has kneaded it to his will.

"It's okay if it is," he whispers. "I... like to be alone sometimes."

That's a lie if I've ever heard one. Peeta hates being alone. The nightmares used to make him wander around his house at night, painting and reading. The hijacking and torture has probably made everything worse, which is why those markings under his eyes are so prominent.

"You don't have to be alone." I say to the patterns on the table.

"Would you like to... stay? With me?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing while he pleads.

"I would," I say. "It'd be nice."

He's an inch away from interlocking our fingers when the timer for the bread in the oven goes off. Peeta leaps up and to the oven, taking it out and gently laying it on the table to cool. I slip my hand under the table awkwardly and rub my pants leg.

"I think I should be going," I mumble. "It's getting late."

"All right." he mumbles back, testing the bread with a toothpick. I stand and slowly reach up to brush the greasy strands of hair from his eyes. He tenses like he did in the Capitol, and for a moment his pupils rise to the point where his eyes are now black, taking over everything but a sliver of blue. He steps back as I do, but then blinks and returns to normal.

I wonder if I should call Dr. Aurelius and say I've found his first minor trigger.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry this took so long! My stupid Open Office decided to delete my other draft and I was forced to re-start. :/ **

**Reviews are much appreciated and loved!**


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